


Kissing Mycroft on a Tuesday

by bennyslegs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennyslegs/pseuds/bennyslegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a cute american girl shows up on your doorstep with a sprained ankle, would you let her hobble home, if you were a Doctor? Of course not!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Mycroft on a Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO. I made a post on tumblr about people ignoring me writing cute things for them, (I'm a brat) and Jess (gatisss on tumblr) consoled me. I thought, well I'm in a writing mood, so I wrote her this little ficlet as a joke and a thank you. 
> 
> Not to be taken entirely seriously, I know people frown upon self-insertion but it's okay if you insert OTHER people into fics, right? Right?

It was an ordinary Saturday morning for John Watson. He’d woken up early, (habit) but not as early as Sherlock had. He'd been laying in bed for probably far too long, sniffing the pillow Sherlock had slept on. It was another habit he’d gotten into, and it made mornings feel much easier to deal with. He padded downstairs to find Sherlock had finished off the last of the bread (with no remorse.) He sighed as he made a cup of tea, wondering if they had any cereal that wasn't mouldy.

Later, John was on his second cup, (which was going cold) as he nodded off in his chair, newspaper drooping in his lap. He and Sherlock had had a very late night, thank you very much, and as it was his day off, he decided he deserved to nap when he liked. Sherlock had been up to his usual Saturday morning rituals, defrosting, dissecting, experimenting, it all made John extremely sleepy just to think about. Interrupting the sleepy silence, the doorbell rang, and John jolted awake. He looked at Sherlock, who stared right back through his goggles, wrist deep in whatever that was, John didn’t want to know. The length of time of the bell wasn’t long enough, though.   
“Not-” started John, “a client” finished Sherlock with a huff, who returned to his squelchy thing in a grump. “Well, I suppose I’d better answer it, then? Even though you’re already up and closest to the door?” Sherlock only grunted in reply, and John didn’t know why he bothered. Then as he looked over to see Sherlock, his faint pink tongue sticking out from between his lips as he did whatever he was doing. Remembering why he bothered, he pecked a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek and smiled to himself as he went downstairs to answer the door.

Well, he’d definitely never met this girl before. She had black hair, and black glasses, and was stood on one foot. Weird, thought John, but he’d seen weirder. He smiled at her all the same.   
“Excuse me,” she said in an American accent “I was wondering if you were John Watson? I’m Jess, I’ve been reading your blog and I’m a huge fan, and I read Sherlock’s sometimes too, I don’t know… I was in the area and I wanted to say hi! I’m sorry if this is weird...” she grinned at him, and he couldn’t help but grin back. John couldn’t argue with a pretty girl interrupting his relaxed Saturday morning.   
“Yes, I’m John Watson, I take it you’re not from here?” He held out his hand and she shook it enthusiastically. “I’m visiting London for a few weeks and just couldn’t resist saying hello! Well, say hello to Sherlock for me, I'm sure he's busy doing experiments! I’d better get back to my hotel.” She smiled as she looked up at him, and turned to leave as John said goodbye. He watched her limp away, and it took him a little while for his sleepy brain cogs to start working properly.   
“Hey, Jess… was it? Why are you limping? Have you hurt your foot?” John thought back to his long-gone limp, and smiled to himself. She turned around and looked down almost guiltily.   
“I twisted it earlier and it’s been feeling so bad the last half hour. Nothing a good rest up couldn’t fix, right?” She gingerly tried to stand on it, but quickly yelped an ouch, and went to rub it. John wasn’t convinced.   
“If you’ve read my blog, I’m sure you know I’m a doctor. Come on in for a little while, and I’ll take a look, make sure it isn’t anything to worry about. I’ll even make you a cuppa.” Her face lit up and she limped towards the door happily, her enthusiasm making John chuckle. “It’s the door at the top of the stairs, the doors open. I hope the stairs are okay for you. Don’t mind Sherlock, he’s doing his own thing, I doubt he’ll even notice you there. I’ll just see if Mrs Hudson has any bandages, Sherlock used the last of ours dipping them in- well, you don’t need to know about that!” He smiled reassuringly, and motioned towards the stairs.

“John, I have asked you 4 times already, can you pass me a pen? I’m in the middle of something extremely important, by far more important than whatever predictable drivel you’re reading in that paper-” Sherlock stopped abruptly as he walked into the front room, eyes on the small girl sat on the sofa. “You’re not John. where’s John?” He narrowed his eyes at her as she smiled sweetly.   
“I’m Jess, John said I could come up for a ‘cuppa’. I hurt my ankle.” She lifted up her leg as Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and looked around the room.   
“Where's. John.” Jess looked un-phased by Sherlock’s attitude, which only made him grumpier. “This is half my flat, and today I don’t want to see anybody but John, so take your leave.” He glared down at her, using his height as an advantage to try and intimidate her. Again, she just smiled. Sherlock’s frown faltered a little. Why wasn’t she scared? Better yet, why wasn’t she leaving?   
“It’s half his ‘flat’ as well, and he invited me, so he has a say too. What are you experimenting on?” She craned her neck hopefully, to see what was on the kitchen table.   
“Nothing that concerns a nosey American who spends too much time RPing and reading fan-fiction!” Sherlock blurted out, standing in-front of her to block her view, “I’m sure you’re wondering how I knew that, aren’t you? well, I-”  
At that moment, John walked in with the bandages in his hand.   
“Oh! Sherlock, I thought you were busy doing … Whatever you were doing. It’s starting to smell, what is that? Anyway, this is Jess-” Sherlock interrupted him before he could finish.   
“Yes, she’s already told me all that - boring, dull, tedious - but this isn’t the clinic and I don’t appreciate you focusing on other people more than me today, I told you today was important! I need you to assist me!” Sherlock huffed and stormed into the kitchen. John had clearly forgotten what today was, and wondered if he could lie his way through it. Sherlock would probably see through it, but it was worth a shot. “It took me days to convince Molly to donate this heart to me, and you know how easily she usually hands body-parts over to me! Why she’d be reluctant to let me use an 5 year old’s heart, I’ll never know!” John winced and looked at jess apologetically.   
“A bit not good, Sherlock!” He called into the kitchen, his hands on his hips. Jess’ eyes were going from John to the kitchen where Sherlock was shouting, as if she was at a tennis match. Now this you couldn’t read on a blog. The comments on the blog were amusing, but this was the real deal. “And anyway - hearts might be important to you, but I’d rather spend my time helping them at the clinic, than watching you cut them up!” Sherlock popped his head around the corner of the door. “Why would I need you to watch? I just need to you fetch things for me. I have no use of you to watch what I do, you do that plenty enough other times.” He looked at John, bemused, the phrase completely foreign to him. Sometimes John forgot how literal Sherlock took everything. “I didn’t mean… Never mind, just… Take care of it, I’m going to make sure Jess’ ankle is okay.”

Sherlock huffed once again, and slammed the kitchen doors shut as John knelt down in-front of Jess.   
“Ignore him, he switches between being a 8 year old one minute, and a bloody genius the next. You get used to it” He smiled up at her. “Can you take your shoe and sock off, please?” She did so, and he took her ankle in his hands. He sucked in a breath harshly as he looked at her bruising ankle. “This doesn’t look good, it looks (He touched it gently as Jess winced) and feels sprained. I think we might have some frozen peas in the back of the freezer, unless Sherlock used them for something. I doubt he ate them. I’ll go get them.” He went to get up when he heard a smart rapping at the door. John froze.   
“Hello?” he called. It couldn’t be Mrs Hudson, she was out for the whole day. Had he left the front door open? Big mistake, must make sure not to tell Sherlock that. Adjusting his tie, Mycroft walked through the door.   
“Ah, John! I was wondering if Sherlock was-” He stopped himself as his eyes landed on Jess with her foot still in John's hands. “Well, this is interesting. Is Sherlock out? Does he know about… This?” John looked at Mycroft dumbfounded, then to Jess, then back to Mycroft, gaping like a fish. “No! This isn’t what you think! I just … I met her today, I’m helping her with her ankle. She’s called Jess” He added lamely, as if it helped argue his case. “Sherlock’s in the kitchen, and he’s in a foul mood.” Mycroft smiled, a sickly sweet smile which meant he was about to ask John for a favour. John sighed, he knew what was going to come.   
“Talk to him for me, would you, John? You know I make his moods worse, and I do need his help on something urgent…” Clangs and crashes were coming from the kitchen as Mycroft forced his smile to grow even further. John shuddered, he’d rather face Sherlock in his mood than look at Mycroft's smile any longer. “Fine, but you owe me Mycroft. He’s not going to be happy to know you’re here, today’s ‘important’” John let go of Jess’ ankle, and made for the kitchen. He opened the doors gingerly, and crept inside, shutting them quietly behind him.  
“Hi” Jess smiled up at Mycroft, and he smiled back, genuine, for a change. Mycroft was surprised how often he had to fake smiles, but this one felt real. She was pretty, and amongst the various rubbish and stacks of books, plates and such that were littered around the flat, she was like a breath of fresh air. He doubted his brother's flat had seen anything this lovely in a long time.   
“Hello. That ankle doesn’t look very good, but you’re in capable hands. Dr Watson has patched up my brother too many times to count. What brings you to London?” He made his way to the sofa, and but then stopped as if coming to his senses, and instead perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the dining table chairs. “Just visiting…” She trailed off, looking at his umbrella. “It’s not raining today, why did you bring that?” He looked down at his umbrella, momentarily surprised. No-one ever really questioned why he always had his umbrella, it just was. Since he was young. “You haven’t been in England long, I take it. Give it a few days, and you’ll see why I carry this with me. Nothing worse than a wet £500 suit!” She giggled, and put her hands to her face, and in that moment Mycroft thought she made Anthea look like a troll.

The kitchen doors opened, and Sherlock thundered through them, John following behind him, rubbing his neck. He looked at Mycroft as if to say ‘This is your mess, deal with it.’   
“Mycroft, who gave you permission to interrupt this perfectly fine Saturday morning with your overall wretched appearance? I didn’t want to see anyone today except for John, not you, NEVER you, not Jane, (“Jess” Mycroft corrected him testily, as Jess blushed,) not even Mrs Hudson, even if she had a plateful of my favourite pastries! I won’t say it again, take your leave. Both of you!” Sherlock’s chest was heaving with rage, but Mycroft wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. He’d seen it all before, of course. Tantrums since he was little, child's play. Mycroft noticed Jess wasn’t intimidated, either. Oh, he was starting to really like her.   
“Someone definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Mycroft smirked, looking at John, who was looking anywhere but Mycroft. “Fine, I’ll talk to you some other time, when you’re not acting like you were 30 years ago. Jess, would you do me the honour of coming with me, so I can take a look at that ankle? I’m sure I know what to do with a sprained ankle, it doesn’t take a doctor to know…” John cleared his throat loudly, as Sherlock tapped his feet impatiently. Mycroft made his way towards the sofa, as Jess put her sock and shoe back on. She stood warily, as Mycroft gave her his arm to take. She looked pointedly at Sherlock, obviously deciding to take her leave and avoid any more of Sherlock's rage.   
“Thank you John, for the offer… Sorry I couldn’t stay for a ‘cuppa’” She said the word with enthusiasm, clearly delighting in the English slang, “Thank you Sherlock for … letting me sit down?” He glared at her, not even considering saying goodbye. She nodded, and looked towards Mycroft. “Thank you so much …Mycroft,” Her cheeks colouring, “You really know how to make a girl feel better.” She stood on tip-toes, wobbling precariously as she pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek. The look of shock upon his face was priceless, and John would never delete that mental picture. He hoped Sherlock would never be able to. Mycroft was blushing.  
“I think I’m going to vomit.” Choked Sherlock, dashing into the kitchen. John couldn’t help but burst out laughing. What a queer Saturday morning, indeed!


End file.
